Sleeping Dragon Feathers

Gyda had come to relieve Thuringwethil of her guard duty over Cirrus. Up to this point, the viking queen had made it a point to keep a distance between herself and the half-breed prisoner Heda had deigned to take in. As far as Gyda saw it: he was a waste of space and resources; and if it were up to her he would either be cast out to survive or die on his own, or she would have ended his life for his crimes by now. It was ...unusual that Thuringwethil take the more diplomatic route than Gyda but trespassing was not a crime Gyda dared to take lightly. In her culture it warranted death: and the laws of Odinn's Cove that she had been looked to uphold had always been clear to her. Simple.

Eyes of caribbean ice glinted with a fierce disgust as she took him in, her lip curling back as she watched his progression. He was walking ...limping rather but it was progress. Still, Gyda did not yet see the point in healing him. “What is it,” Gyda called out to him, her accented voice barbed with stoicism. “that you can offer Sleeping Dragon in exchange for feeding you and healing you?” The shield-maiden demanded of him, sashaying to his position, her posture dominant in her approach.